I Look Into Your Eyes (And See That I Can)
by countmeaway
Summary: But if he's being honest with himself, he's tired of being angry, he's tired of feeling hurt, he's tired of letting it all get in the way of everything, dragging it all around like a ball and chain shackled to his ankle.


/set following the 06/13 episode of raw.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the words written here. title from mercy by matt nathanson.

* * *

It's not that he's never noticed. He'd have to be blind as all hell to not have noticed. Only now he can't not notice, can't just force it to the back of his mind like he had so many times before, when it was hidden beneath looser fitting pants and a goddamn vest, when it was all about the burn in his muscles and not the way the sweat gleamed in the light off chiseled skin, when he was too busy cracking jokes about painted on jeans that looked absolutely ridiculous, when the mere mention of that name made his hands ball into fists, anger and fury like a livewire in his blood.

But now that it's all blown over, now that he knows and understands and accepts why he did what he did, it's taking every bit of strength and restraint he has to stay standing where he's at, mouth gone dry, a bone-deep surge of want and need pumping through his veins.

Fucking Seth.

It's always something with that jackass, isn't it?

Dean chuckles ruefully to himself, shakes his head as if to rid himself of all thoughts and images dancing through it.

He doesn't have time for this, not tonight, not tomorrow, not next week, not ever. Money in the Bank is right around the corner, and with his intentions out for all the world to see and hear, a distraction of any kind is the last thing he needs.

It doesn't stop him from throwing one last glance over his shoulder, however, eyes tracing every curve and flare of muscle: neck, chest, the strain of material around biceps, the broad expanse of back, thickly muscled thighs.

Goddamn does Dean want.

He shakes his head again, tightens his grip on the handle of his suitcase and speeds up his walk over to the elevators, more than ready to be settled into his room for the night. The quick shower he managed to grab at the arena did fuck all for the sweat coating his skin, only made him feel worse if anything, and the drive over from the previous town has him craving an actual shower, needs to scrub the sweat and grime from his skin and hair.

The doors slide open and just as he's about to pus the button for his floor, an all too familiar voice calls out, "Wait, hold up."

No, nope, hell no.

Dean jabs his finger repeatedly into the door close button as hard and fast as he can, fervently hoping that they'll slide shut before anyone can slip in.

But of course, that's just not how Dean's life works, is it?

Seth barely manages to fit his hand between the sliding doors of the elevator, and Dean bites back every curse he knows.

"Couldn't wait to take a different elevator up?" he asks, focusing his eyes on the display above the doors that are finally sliding shut.

 _Thanks for nothing, piece of shit elevator._

"Why do that when there was already a perfectly good elevator already here?" Seth asks, like it's normal for him to want to be anywhere around Dean, like he hasn't spent countless hours tearing Dean to shreds in front of everyone and their mother, like it's two years ago and it's just another night, like they've only just had a small disagreement.

Dean snorts in disbelief. "Yeah, okay."

The elevator feels like it hasn't moved an inch, making the slowest ascent ever to the fourth floor. Dean silently wills it to speed up, move faster, to get him the hell out of this elevator before he says or does something he'll regret.

It's not like he hasn't seen or spoken to Seth at all over the last couple years, but it was all business, scathing, sarcastic remarks meant to dig under Seth's skin, except for the one text he had sent Seth after he heard about his knee injury. It was a simple _'you okay?'_ and Seth's response had been an equally simple _'fine.'_ _  
_

But this, this isn't them anymore. They're not friends anymore, never really were in Seth's eyes, and that's fine with him. He's accepted it and moved on. Seth's just another coworker, another competitor, another stepping stone to the top.

"Still not gonna talk to me, huh?" Seth asks, and Dean's head whips around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

He wants to laugh himself sick. This asshole seriously cannot be asking him that.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I didn't realize we were friends."

Seth's eyes fall to the floor of the elevator.

"I mean, we were just business partners, right?" Dean continues, because even if it's been two years, even if he's accepted it and moved on, it still fucking burns deep in his gut. "I'm crazy, I'm a lunatic, I just need to die, right? What the fuck reason would I have to talk to you?"

Fuck,, maybe he's not as over it as he thought, but he can't, he can't fucking stand here and act like nothing's wrong, like Seth didn't stab him in the back and in the heart, a gaping, festering wound that refuses to heal.

"When are you going to get over that, Dean?" Seth asks, and he sounds tired, defeated.

Too goddamn bad.

"Probably never," Dean says, honest with himself for the first time since Seth left.

"Why?" Seth asks, and he finally sounds like himself, an underlying anger bringing heat to his words. "It was two goddamn years ago. Let it go, man."

This asshole.

"Let it go? Let it go?!" Dean scoffs. "Easy for you to say. You weren't stabbed in the back. You weren't betrayed. Your whole world didn't fucking crumble under your goddamn feet."

"I did what I had to do," Seth says, flat and even.

It sounds rehearsed, like he stood in front of a mirror and repeated it over and over until he believed it, until the words lost all meaning.

"You really believe that?" Dean asks, shaking his head.

The elevator finally chimes its arrival on the fourth floor, and Dean can't escape fast enough. He shoves his way past Seth, walks as fast as his tired feet will carry him. There's an echo of footsteps behind him, the drag of wheels on carpeted floor, but he doesn't bother turning around, heads straight to his room, key card out so he can unlock the door and escape behind it the moment he gets to it.

Seth's foot wedges itself between the door and the frame before Dean gets it shut.

This night will just never end, will it?

Seth squeezes his way inside, pulling his suitcase behind him.

"What do you want, Seth?" Dean asks, sitting at the edge of the bed as he removes his shoes, suitcase tosses carelessly to the side.

"We're not done talking."

Of course they're not, because what Seth wants, Seth gets.

"Yeah, well," Dean says, "I'm done listening."

"If that were true, you would've pushed me out of your room," Seth points out. "We both know you're strong enough."

Yeah, maybe before. Before Seth went and hulked the fuck up, packed on muscle everywhere on his frame, inches and inches of-

 _Oh, goddammit._

"Then say what you need to say and get out. I'm tired."

Dean watches as Seth moves around the room, grabbing the chair from the desk and angling it towards Dean, leaving more than enough space between them.

Great, he's making himself comfortable. So much for Dean hoping this was going to be a quick chat.

"I did what I had to do," Seth says again.

"Yeah, you already said that," Dean says, rests his arms against his thighs.

Seth's voice is whisper quiet this time, eyes downcast as he says, "I did what I had to do to get away from you."

Jesus.

It's like he'll never stop sticking the knife in his back.

"You really hated me that much, huh?" Dean shakes his head, pretends he doesn't feel the hard lump of angry tears suddenly clogging his throat.

"I never hated you," Seth says, strong and absolute, the truth of the statement like a vice grip around Dean's heart, squeezing and squeezing until he's sure it's about to give out.

Nothing fucking makes sense anymore, especially when not even a few hours ago Seth was standing in the middle of the ring, claiming that the best times he ever had with him was when he took a chair to his back.

"Then why?"

 _Why did you leave us? Why did you break us? Why did you leave_ me?

"Because I couldn't-" Seth stops, shakes his head, rubs a hand over his tired face. His eyes are fixed on a spot on the floor when he continues, voice whisper quiet in the stillness of the room. "I couldn't be around you. I couldn't sit there, day in and day out and pretend everything was okay, that you were my brother, that you were just my best friend when I wanted you every single second of every goddamn day."

Listen to this asshole.

"That's really fucking funny, Seth," Dean says, ignores the hammering of his heart, the way it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

Every look, every glance, every touch, and he thought he hid it so goddamn well. But like everything else, Seth is here to make a mockery of him, his life, the things he wants that he has no right to ever want or hope to get.

"Haven't twisted the knife enough yet, have you? No, of course not, because there's always something else for you to come back to, another fucking mistake in Dean Ambrose's life for you to laugh at." He's sick and angry, but he should've expected it, should've known that if Seth found out he'd do anything he could to stretch that wound open even wider.

"What are you even talking about?" Seth asks, face scrunched up in confusion.

"Don't play dumb, Sethie." Dean spits it like a curse, like poison on his tongue. "You, what? Thought you'd have one last laugh at me because isn't that just like a lunatic, always wanting and waiting and hoping and dreaming, knowing he'll never actually get it, that he'll never actually deserve it?"

Dean's up and off the bed, pacing the short length of the room, hands balled into fists at his side as every negative thought pours into the forefront of his mind.

"Dean, c'mon, please," Seth says, quiet, soothing, reaching out to touch.

Dean stumbles back out of reach of Seth's hand, regains his footing before he can tumble to the ground.

"Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong." Seth's voice is still quiet, still soothing, and it's grating on Dean's nerves to hear it.

This isn't back then; this isn't the time where Seth's voice was like a balm for his aching soul, a gentle caress of sound running over his skin, a band-aid for his bumps and bruises.

But god does he want it to be. He wants to fall into the sound of Seth's voice against his ear, quiet, reassuring words meant only for him, a soothing hand on his shoulder to keep the demons at bay.

"I loved you, Dean. I wanted you so goddamn badly it was like an ache in my bones. I couldn't bear to be around you and not have you, not after all that time I spent thinking _maybe_ , hoping you'd one day turn around and want me, too."

"What?" This cannot be happening. He can't. This can't.

"I had to get away," Seth continues, oblivious to Dean's inner turmoil. "If I was going to ruin our friendship, it wasn't going to be because you were rejecting me. I wasn't going to take that risk and then still have to see you every day and know that you could never want me the way I wanted you. So, when Hunter concocted his plan B, I jumped at the chance to get away. I did what I had to do, for my career, and for my emotional well-being."

Dean fucking explodes. " _Your_ emotional well-being? What about mine, Seth, huh? Did you ever stop to think about that?! I fucking trusted you, I let you in, and you took everything I said and used it against me! Your emotional well-being, fuck off with that shit. It was always about you, you, you, and fuck everyone else. You're a self-centered, self-important jackass, and I fucking hate you."

"Dean, please."

There are tears in Seth's eyes, and Dean can't even enjoy them. It's less than what he deserves after everything he's said and done.

"How could you not have seen? How did you not know?" His heart is hammering in his chest again, loud in his ears. Can't Seth see? How can he not see? "I would've done anything for you. I would've given you anything, everything, been whatever you needed me to be."

"What?" Seth looks dumbfounded, flabbergasted.

"Congratulations, Seth," Dean says, applauds, smile forced and bitter, "you fucked us up before there was even an us to fuck up."

It's mean and it's cruel, but fuck, Dean is so goddamn angry. They could've, they would've been great, would've been amazing, but they'll never know now, and it's the worst kind of bitter pill to swallow knowing that if one of them would've just taken a chance, everything would have been different.

"I didn't, I didn't know," Seth says, and maybe it's true, maybe it's not, but it doesn't matter anymore, does it? Their chance was gone before it ever became a reality.

"You should go," Dean says, and he drags himself into the bathroom, every step feeling like there are anchors tied to his feet, trying to pull his body down.

He doesn't wait to hear the hotel room door click shut, locks himself inside the bathroom and slides down to the floor, burying his head in his hands.

Everything he'd wanted, the only person he'd let himself dream about having, there and gone in an instant. He should be used to it by now. The good things never last, are never his to keep for long, if at all.

He doesn't know how long he sits there on the floor, but by the time he stands, his knees pop and his back cracks. He feels bone tired, exhausted to the core. It takes the last bits of his flagging energy to wash his face then drag himself back into the room.

Seth's gone and the chair is back where it should be, but there's a piece of paper on the bed, right in the middle where Dean couldn't miss it if he tried.

 _Those feelings haven't changed. I still want you_ _  
_ _and I'm not letting go without a fight this time._ _  
_ _I will make it up to you_ _  
_ _-S_ _  
_ _  
_Dean's lips curve up into a ghost of a smile even as he shakes his head. If there's one thing about Seth that hasn't changed, it's his stubbornness. But Dean is just as headstrong and stubborn.

His last thought as he sheds his clothes and slips into bed is that things are about to get interesting.

* * *

When he wakes the next morning, interesting is the furthest thing from his mind. More like irritating, frustrating, because his phone won't stop ringing and the knocking at his door is getting louder and louder and he just wants to fucking sleep.

"Fucking hold on," he yells out, drags himself out of bed to open the door, less than surprised to see Seth standing there, chipper as fucking ever like it's not ass o'clock in the morning and he hasn't just pulled Dean out of bed.

"Still a ray of sunshine, I see," Seth says, smiling brightly, and Dean can't ignore the way Seth's eyes on him feel like he's being taken apart.

"Still an asshole, I see," Dean says, brain running slow enough that he doesn't fully register the words until they're out. Still, it's nothing he wouldn't have said to Seth before, so he doesn't bother taking them back, but offers a small smile instead to take the sting out of the words.

"One of these days, Dean, you're gonna wake up and not be such a grouch," Seth says, and he's still smiling, and Dean almost wants to agree with him that maybe one day it'll happen, because he can see it, clear as day, another nondescript hotel in a long line of hotels that have become their life, the blankets resting low on the bed and Seth tucked up against him, a hand moving up and down the bare planes of his stomach and chest, a sleepy smile on his face as he's pulled from sleep.

Dean coughs and rubs at his face, hopes Seth chalks it up to him still being half asleep instead of him fantasizing about their possible future. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says, "and pigs will fly and Hell will freeze over."

Seth laughs, a soft chuckle, and Dean can't resist smiling in return.

"Did you need something else, besides pulling me out of bed at fuck o'clock in the morning?" Dean asks, because he really, really wants to go back to sleep for the couple hours he has before he's normally awake.

"Nope," says Seth, and Dean really kind of wants to wipe the smile off his face. It's too goddamn early for this shit.

"Right, well, thanks for the wake up call," Dean says, intent on closing the door and climbing back into bed, but of course, Seth being Seth, pushes his way inside, maneuvering Dean away from the door so he can close it behind them.

"Yeah, no," Seth says, and he throws himself down onto Dean's bed, the bed he planned on going back to sleep in. "If I leave, your lazy ass will just go right back to sleep."

"So?"

"So," Seth says, "not happening. Go shower, get dressed, I'll go grab something to eat."

"No, Seth," Dean says, drags a hand over his tired face. "I want to sleep."

"I'll make it worth your while," Seth says, grinning, words like a promise Dean can't resist.

Fuck. There go his morning plans. Fucking Seth and his need to be awake and moving and dragging everyone along with him.

"C'mon, Dean, get a move on," Seth says, claps his hands like he's Dean's personal cheerleader.

Dean curses under his breath and moves to his suitcase, rummaging through it for a clean change of clothes.

"Don't even think about falling asleep in there," Seth says, and Dean really hates the way Seth knows him so well sometimes.

"Yes, Master. Whatever you say, Master." Dean meanders into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Seth better come back with one hell of a meal for this shit.

* * *

The shower helps wake him up, which is the opposite of what he'd hoped for, but it also gives him too much quiet time to himself to think. It's one of the things he hates about the quiet sometimes: the way his mind seems to keep going and going, processing thought after thought and allowing him to dissect it all.

Like this thing with Seth. It hasn't even been twelve hours, yet here they are like it's nothing, like all the bad shit that's been said and done has just been swept away as though none of it ever mattered, like it wasn't a catalyst for one of the worst periods of Dean's life.

But if he's being honest with himself, he's tired of being angry, he's tired of feeling hurt, he's tired of letting it all get in the way of everything, dragging it all around like a ball and chain shackled to his ankle. They're adults, grown ass men, and there's no reason they shouldn't be able to separate their business life from their personal life. What's done is done, and they have to move on from it.

The inability to separate their business life from their personal life, their inability to actually talk about the important things for fear of it messing with their business dynamic, is what caused this whole mess in the first place, and Dean just wants-he wants, like he seldom ever lets himself want, for this to work out, for there to be an actual something between them instead of what ifs and maybes and could have beens.

Seth was one of two people Dean would call his best friends, and even without the feelings of wanting more, the loss of his presence felt like he was missing a limb. Maybe that's why it's been so easy for him to just let it all go, accept what Seth's offering and move on, because he fucking misses that asshole; even when Seth was tearing him apart in front of thousands and thousands of people, he never stopped missing him, never stopped wanting him, hoped to wake up and find out it was all a bad dream and that Seth was in the bed beside him.

And while this isn't quite the same as it all being a bad dream, it's similar in the sense that Seth never meant it, was doing what he thought was best even if it was the stupidest thing he could've ever done, fuck.

Putting his head through cinderblocks because he couldn't or didn't want to face his emotions?

But Dean can understand it, vaguely, even if he doesn't agree with it. He himself is guilty of using anger and fists instead of rationally dealing with what he's feeling, but. Would he have ever done something so drastic to get away from Seth because he couldn't deal with his feelings? No, never, because he was right there with Seth, feeling and wanting and hoping for the same exact thing. But Seth's different, deals with and processes his emotions in an entirely different way than Dean does. He'd be an asshole to not understand that.

Point of the matter is that Dean's done holding onto the anger and frustration that he's worn like a suit of armor since Seth took a chair to his back. He's done with it, he has to be, because Seth is here, Seth is trying, and Seth wants to be with him for some unknown reason, and why in the world would Dean let that chance slip through his fingers again?

Seth isn't back by the time Dean's out of the shower and mostly dressed, breath minty fresh, towel draped over his shoulders to catch the water dripping from the ends of his hair.

He tries to keep himself busy, shoves his dirty clothes into his suitcase and takes out a clean shirt, towel dries his hair before he puts it on, checks his phone to see the billion missed calls from Seth, a text from Roman he'll reply to later, goes so far as to make the damn bed, but nothing calms the nervous excitement buzzing through his veins.

Everything feels different, weird in a good way. For as much as he let himself hope and wish and want, he never could have pictured any of this happening, Seth being here, Seth wanting anything with him, Seth willing to try and see what they could be, and it thrills him down to his core, ignites a giddiness he's never quite felt before.

It's exciting and exhilarating and so goddamn terrifying.

Seth walks in like he owns the place, holds up the key card when Dean gives him a questioning look. "You left it on the table," he says, shrugging.

"What did you get?" Dean asks, eyeing the bags dangling from Seth's hand. He's barely eaten anything since before the show last night, and the rumbling of his stomach is a painful reminder of that.

Seth toes off his shoes and scoots back against the pillows on the bed, pulling out takeout boxes with one hand while he pats the free spot next to him with the other.

Dean doesn't even think twice about joining him, takes the box Seth hands him with a quiet thanks.

"I got you eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, all that greasy breakfast food you like to shovel into your mouth," Seth says, and Dean sees that Seth's own breakfast is infinitely healthier than his own.

"Anything to drink?" Dean asks, already making his way through the food piled into his container.

Seth hands him a bottle of orange juice, and sets a bottle of water on the bed beside him.

"Dude," Dean says, making a face at the bottle in his hand. "I just brushed my teeth."

"Shit, sorry," Seth apologizes, swapping Dean's orange juice for his own bottle of water.

It's quiet while they eat, but it's not the kind of quiet that sends Dean's mind into overdrive. It's peaceful, calming, Seth a welcome presence at his side.

He's missed these moments more than he realized, the calm and quiet his body only seems to slip into when Seth's around.

"Thank you," he says, once he's finished with his food. He wants to elaborate, wants to say thank you for the food, for being here, for making things right, for wanting me enough to take a chance on this, but he can't seem to find the words.

Seth bumps their shoulders together and offers him a warm smile, says, "Anything for you," honest, heartfelt, sincere in a way that makes Dean's heart pound inside his chest.

Dean isn't quite sure how to reply to that, so he cleans up their mess instead.

"I should get going," Seth says, breaking the quiet that's settled over the room again.

Goddammit. He's already screwing things up.

"You don't have to," Dean says, quick as he can, turning to face Seth who's already standing.

"Gotta get ready for tonight, man," Seth says, smiling apologetically. "Otherwise I'd stay 'til you kicked me out."

"I wouldn't," Dean says without thought. It's the truth, though. Now that the air's been cleared between them, he's okay with admitting to himself that he still wants Seth around all the time, every minute of the day, and he doesn't know how he went almost two years without him when he's already missing Seth before he's even walked out the door.

He kind of hates himself a little bit for being so goddamn eager, though. So much for making Seth work for it.

"I know." Seth walks towards the door, and Dean can't do anything but follow. "I'll see you later, alright?"

Dean nods, says, "Yeah, later," and his breath freezes in his lungs when Seth leans in, a hand on his arm, a chaste kiss to his cheek, gone before Dean can even think about any kind of reciprocation.

He resists the urge to touch the skin of his cheek where Seth's lips were, but it's a damn close thing. God help him, he is head over ass for that dumbass.

He goes back to the bed, settling himself in the spot Seth was in. His phone chimes, signaling the arrival of a text.

 _I forgot how much I always want to be around you. Hate that I had to leave. -S_ _  
_ _  
_Dean can't help the smile that crosses his lips.

 _I know. Me, too. -D_ _  
_ _  
_After he sends that, he finally opens Roman's message. _'lunch 11?'_ _  
_ _  
_'Already ate,' he sends back, and before he can even set his phone down, it's ringing in his hand. Roman.

"What do you mean you already ate?" Roman asks, in lieu of an actual greeting.

"I mean I already ate," Dean says, shrugs his shoulder even though Roman can't see him. If it wasn't for Roman reminding him-dragging him-along to eat breakfast, Dean would probably end up skipping out more often than not. Give him coffee and a protein bar, and he's good to go.

"Ah, I see," Roman says, and Dean doesn't like that tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks, fingertips drumming against his knee.

"Seth finally talked to you, huh?" Roman chuckles, and Dean kind of wants to punch him in the throat.

"You knew?" Dean wants to be outraged, angry, but he can't find it in him. Not today. Fucking Seth, already making his ass soft.

"Yeah, man, I knew," Roman says, soft and quiet like he's expecting Dean to go off on him.

"Oh," Dean says, a slow beat of his heart like an ache in his chest. How long have they been talking? How long has Roman known? Why didn't Roman say anything to him?

"Dean, man, I had to let you do this on your own," Roman explains. "I knew if I tried to force it, it would only make you resist it that much more. You and Seth had to figure this out on your own without me. And I'm guessing y'all did."

"Yeah, I know," Dean says, and he gets it, he does, because if there's anyone who knows him almost better than he knows himself, it's Roman. "And yeah, y'know, we're figuring shit out."

"Good for you," Roman says. "Y'all deserve it after everything."

"Thanks, Ro," Dean says. "Now enough of this mushy shit. We hitting the gym now, or what?"

Roman laughs, deep and hearty in his ear. "Yeah, whatever, I'll eat after."

* * *

Sometimes Dean prefers the weekend house shows to the hustle and bustle of Raw and Smackdown, if only because there aren't cameras everywhere backstage and he can walk around as he pleases, if he so chooses. It also helps that he's fresh off two days of rest, two days spent relaxing and preparing for the next week of work.

And, it means Seth can sneak into the room Dean has claimed as his own dressing room.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asks, raises an eyebrow and hopes the excitement he's feeling isn't reflected on his face.

Can't let Seth think he's winning too much, here, even though he really is. No reason to inflate his ego anymore than it already is.

"Just wanted to see you, is all," Seth says, honest to goodness pouting at the thought that maybe he's not welcome in this space.

It shouldn't be so goddamn cute, considering he's an adult, not a child, but Seth somehow always seems to make the impossible possible.

Dean sighs, says, "C'mere," and pulls Seth into a hug. It feels different, new, Seth bigger and more solid in his arms, and he hates how much he loves it, how much he wants to keep Seth trapped there forever.

"I needed that," Seth says when he pulls away, looking almost ashamed to be admitting it.

"You okay?" Dean asks, concerned. For all the cocky arrogance Seth cloaks himself in when he's parading around in front of a crowd or camera, there are moments away from prying eyes where he lets it all drop, lets the uncertainty and nervousness float to the surface, and Dean's afraid this is about to be one of those times.

"Still just worried about fucking up my knee again," Seth says, shrugging. "It's not like, bothering me or hurting or anything, but y'know, there were no signs anything was going to happen before I went and blew my knee out, so."

"Hey," Dean says softly, trying his hardest to be soothing and comforting, but that' not his shtick, has never been, and he doesn't want to fuck it all up, "look at me. They wouldn't have let you come back unless you were 100% ready. You're fine, and your knee is as good as new, probably way better than both of mine combined. Don't think about it so much, man."

Seth blows out a breath, and Dean can see the way his shoulders sag, letting go of whatever tension he was holding there.

"I know, you're right," Seth says, shaking his head. "Just being a freak today, I guess."

"Nah, you're alright," Dean says, pulls Seth back into him again. He smooths his hand up and down Seth's back, relishes in the way Seth seems to melt against him. "Now get outta here, go do your handstands."

Seth laughs, the warmth of his breath washing over Dean's skin as he pulls away. "Yeah, yeah, go punch the air."

Seth leaves with a quiet wave of his hand, the door swinging shut behind him.

Dean shakes his head, shakes his arms out and bounces around in place, gets his heart racing and his blood pumping. He has a match to get ready for, and house show or not, he's ready to go out there and give it all he's got, same way he always does, always will.

And if he's a little extra showy, in the hope that Seth is somewhere watching, well, that's his secret.

* * *

It's not that Dean is avoiding Seth, but it's Saturday now, and Money in the Bank is tomorrow. He can't let anything get in the way of the goals he has, and that includes Seth, even if he wishes Seth were right beside him.

He still has a match tonight before his red eye flight home, but there's so much going on in his head and he can't quiet it down. His brain is running in a million different directions, trying to focus on his upcoming match, the ladder match tomorrow night, Seth, the title, everything, and it's taking everything in him to keep from beating his knuckles bloody against the nearest wall.

It wouldn't solve anything, anyway.

He runs through his stretches, his pre-match ritual, but nothing quiets the chaos in his mind.

Until.

"Hey."

No knock, no _can I come in_ , but Dean supposes that's for the best, because if Seth had asked, Dean would've turned him away. He doesn't want Seth to see him like this, so fucking weak and lost in his own head.

"You okay?"

What a dumb fucking question. Obviously he's not okay.

"Dumb question, huh?"

At least he knows.

"Dean, c'mon, talk to me," Seth says, that soothing, quiet voice that washes over Dean's skin like the gentlest of touches.

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times, tries to figure out what to say, but all that comes out is, "Just, y'know, my head," because he doesn't know how else to say it, doesn't want to deal with words right now.

"Big weekend, yeah?" Seth says, and Dean loves this, loves that Seth knows him so well that he doesn't have to say much for Seth to know what he means. "Hey, look at me."

Dean wants to laugh at the complete reversal of roles from only 24 hours ago, but there's really nothing amusing about it to him.

He lifts his head and it's like everything in him just settles. The raucous thumping of his heart isn't roaring in his ears, his skin doesn't feel tight and ill-fitting, and his mind is finally focused on just one thing: _Seth_.

"Whatever happens, win, lose, draw, you are fucking amazing, you hear me?" Seth's voice is firm, authoritative, leaves no room for argument, and it soothes the beasts inside Dean's mind. "You're Dean fucking Ambrose, and there's nothing you can't do."

Dean's lips twitch up into a smile, because yeah, Seth's right, there's nothing he can't do. Every hurdle, every obstacle life has thrown him, he's jumped it, beaten it, came out on top, and this is no different. It's just another obstacle, just another hurdle, and he can fucking do this.

"What if I win the briefcase? What if you win and I cash in on you?" _What does that mean for us?_ _  
_ _  
_"So be it," Seth says, easy as breathing. "Nothing is worth losing you, not again. If you win that contract, and I know you will, if you beat me, or Roman, you deserve it. You've worked your ass off for it."

Dean lets go of all the tension that had his body wound tight, feels like he can breathe for this first time since he woke up this morning.

Seth walks up to Dean, pulls him into his arms, and Dean sags against him, lets Seth hold him upright, his legs suddenly jelly now that his muscles aren't locked stiff with worry and anxiety.

When Seth pulls away, makes Dean stand on his own two feet, it doesn't even take half a second's thought for Dean to fit his lips to Seth's, soft and warm against his own

It makes his pulse race, heart like a kick drum inside his chest.

Seth doesn't deepen the kiss, nor does he, keeps it a simple press of lips to lips for a second, two, three, a brief separation before another one, and another, a slow succession of chaste kisses that leave Dean oddly satisfied considering how innocent they are.

"That doesn't mean I'll take it easy on you," Seth says, teases, pulling away with that stupid smirk on his lips that Dean wants to kiss again and again and never stop.

"I'd be pissed if you did," Dean says, honest. "Hey, you flying to Vegas after the show tonight?"

It's a thought he's been bouncing around in his head all day, but with him trying to keep his distance from Seth, he didn't think he'd ever have to worry about asking. But now that Seth's here, he's let it fall from his lips before he can change his mind.

"Yeah, I think most of us are," Seth says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "What's up?"

"I just-" Dean pauses, takes a breath, "did you already have a hotel booked, or?"

Seth shakes his head. "I was just going to grab one whenever we got there. Got something better in mind?"

Dean laughs softly. "You could crash with me, if you wanted."

Seth seems taken aback at the offer

"No, oh god, I just mean to sleep," Dean quickly clarifies. "Not to, y'know, not that I don't want to, because I do, very much, I just don't want to rush anything."

"No, no, yeah," Seth says, words tumbling out just as quick as Dean's. " I agree, I mean, same for me."

Dean feels so light, buoyant, like he could float right up to the ceiling. "Meet me here after?"

"You can count on it," Seth says, winks, the fucker. "I'm gonna go get ready for my match. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Dean says, "I'm good."

* * *

Dean is good, he's so fucking good, lets the satisfaction of tonight's win carry him back to his makeshift locker room, peeling off the athletic tape from his hands and wrists as he waits for Seth.

It feels like a big step, inviting Seth into his home in this new relationship they're in. There's more to it now than there ever was before, and it's exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

What if it's too much, what if they're moving too fast? He's only human, and the temptation of them being in the same bed may progress things further and faster than either of them are ready for.

He wasn't lying when he told Seth he very much wants to have sex with him, because he does, oh god, does he fucking want, but he also wants to take his time with it, doesn't want to ruin everything by rushing it, and this thing between them is still so fragile and new that one wrong move could potentially end it all.

That's not what Dean wants at all, but he wants Seth, in his home, in his bed, their bodies curved together like they should have been for all these years. They've earned it, after all the hell they've put each other through, to have one night where they can be them, just Dean and Seth, not shrouded in their ring personas and hating each other.

When Seth finally appears, he looks exhausted, run ragged, and Dean doesn't even have to ask to know he didn't win. Shit

"You'll get him tomorrow," he says, has every bit of faith and confidence in Seth to know that when it really counts, when it really matters, Seth can pull off the victory.

That's not to say he doesn't think Roman is just as capable, but if he's being honest with himself, he will always root for Seth.

"Yeah," Seth says, offering him a tired smile. "Let's get out of here. I'm ready for a shower and a real bed."

"Hate to burst your bubble, sunshine, but we've got a plane to catch first."

"Don't remind me," Seth says with a whine.

"Hey, be grateful we're not driving the whole way there." Dean outright laughs at the look of disgust Seth gives him in response.

Dean hefts his backpack over one shoulder, and pulls his suitcase along behind him. Seth follows beside him, walking in silence through the halls of the arena to get to the doors that lead out to the back parking lot.

"You good to drive?" Dean asks, holding the door open so Seth can walk out before him.

"Yeah, I"ll be fine. Hey, how'd you get here today?"

Dean was wondering when he'd ask that.

"Caught a ride with Ro. Already told him I was leaving with you."

Seth pops the trunk of his rental, asks, "What did he say to that?"

Dean quickly tosses his suitcase in, grabs Seth's and does the same, pushing it shut after he's done. "Typical smartass Roman response, 'don't do anything I wouldn't do'."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Seth says, shaking his head.

The drive to the airport is quiet, filled only with the soft sound of the radio, the occasional horn from late night idiot drivers, and it passes by in a blur of lights and traffic.

"I'm gonna turn in the rental, I'll meet you inside," Seth says, pulling up to the departures area.

Even though it pains him to say it, Dean knows it's the right thing to do. "Probably smarter if we're not seen together."

He doesn't have to see Seth's face to know he's frowning, feels his own mouth turned down in a similar expression. "Are you parked in the long-term lot?"

"Yeah," Dean says, "same as always. Meet you there when we land?"

Seth nods, and Dean slowly gets out of the car, wants to stay as long as he can, though he knows he can't.

"See you there," Seth says softly, so much sadness in his voice it makes Dean ache. He reaches out, runs the tips of his fingers over the back of Seth's hand, grips tight for the briefest of moments before he lets go, forcing himself to move.

The next couple hours can't go by fast enough.

* * *

Seth's barely awake the whole drive to Dean's house, and it makes the nerves roiling around in Dean's stomach increase tenfold. It's been so long since he's had anyone in his house, not since, well. It's become his safe place, where he retreats when he needs quiet, when everything is too loud and too much, when the thought of human interaction makes his skin crawl, a reprieve from the rest of the world.

Bringing Seth homes changes that, knows he'll never be able to be there again without imagining Seth there, the smell of his shampoo, the scent of his skin, and he doesn't know if he's ready for that.

Everything with Seth is so much, makes him feel so much, think so much, and even though it's hardly been a week, he can't ever imagine being without Seth again. The first time nearly killed him, drove him to the edge of insanity, and he doesn't think he'd survive it if it were to happen one more time.

Maybe it makes him ridiculous, a fool, putting so much of himself in one person, but that's who he is, it's how he's always been. He doesn't do things halfway; it's all or nothing. Seth is all, is everything, has so much power to ruin and break Dean and it's fucking scary.

He trusted Seth once before, and it didn't exactly turn out in his favor.

He believes everything Seth is saying, everything he's doing, but as much as he tries, he can't ignore that tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him not to get comfortable, that it won't last, that he doesn't deserve good things, that Seth will only ruin and destroy him.

He ignores it as best as he can, because Seth is here, Seth is trying to make it up to him, and he can't, won't, let the negativity win.

Dean pulls into his driveway, shuts the car off before he turns to Seth, taking in the sweep of his lashes against his cheeks, the hint of a smile on his lips, gently placing a hand on Seth's shoulder to rouse him. "We're here, sleepyhead," he whispers, knows that for all that Seth's a morning person, loud voices upon waking up grate on his ears like almost nothing else.

Seth snuffles sleepily, rubs his hands against his eyes like the world's biggest toddler.

"Here," Dean says, hands him the keys, "go inside, I'll grab the bags."

Seth nods, dragging himself out of the car and up the path to the front door. Dean watches, knows he's smiling stupidly, but does nothing to stop it.

It barely takes him any time at all to get the luggage off the car and into the house, but by the time he does, Seth is curled up on the sofa, asleep.

Dean sighs

He lets Seth sleep as he carries his own luggage upstairs, setting it off to the corner to worry about later. His shower is thorough but quick, barely enjoying the heat of the water beating down against the sore muscles of his back, and throws on a pair of old sweatpants, soft and worn with use.

Seth hasn't moved a muscle since Dean went upstairs, and he really doesn't want to wake up again, but Seth needs a shower or he'll be downright pissy in the morning about the state of his hair and how gross his skin feels.

Dean crouches down in front of the sofa, places his hand on Seth's side. "Seth, c'mon, shower," he says, shaking him gently.

Seth's eyes flicker open before they close again.

"Don't make me carry you to the bathroom, or I'll throw you in a cold shower," Dean threatens, fights to keep the smile off his face because that's probably the last thing he'd ever do.

"Do it and I'll punch you in the dick," Seth says, little fucking faker.

"Get up and go shower then," Dean says, backing away from the sofa, just in case. "I want to go to sleep soon."

Seth looks up at him with soft eyes, and it makes Dean's heart stutter in his chest. Seth is so fucking beautiful. "Don't wanna sleep without me?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Dean shrugs, says, "Not really, no."

"Look at you," Seth says, smiling, "getting all soft on me."

"Forget it," Dean says, walking over to the staircase. "You can sleep on the couch."

It's not that he's mad, or frustrated even. More that he's a little bit bothered by Seth's careless teasing of him being honest, especially in a situation like this. It's not often he lets himself admit such things, especially not aloud, and for Seth to be so flippant about it makes him want to take back the words and pretend he never said them.

"Babe, c'mon," Seth says hurriedly, up and off the sofa between one step and the next.

Dean ignores the sharp curl of pleasure that settles over him at Seth calling him babe. He's never really been one for cutesy nicknames, but somehow, from Seth, it sounds right, feels right. Fucking hell, he is getting soft. Too soft.

"Dean," Seth says, lays a hand on the small of Dean's back, runs the tip of his nose along the sensitive skin at the nape of Dean's neck. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"M'not upset," Dean says, letting himself sag back against Seth, fire sparking beneath his skin at the feel of Seth's hands on his hips.

"Sounds kinda like you are," Seth points out, but the way his fingers are slowly stroking along the bare skin of Dean's stomach is making him lose all his concentration.

"I'm just tired," Dean says, a yawn catching him by surprise. He lets his hands fall to Seth's, lacing their fingers together, committing to memory the shape and size and feel of them against his own.

Seth nudges him forward, and Dean lets his hold on Seth's hands fall away, immediately missing the warmth of Seth's grip when he moves away. "Go lay down. I'll take a quick shower, then we can sleep, okay?"

Dean agrees, quickly climbing the stairs, lethargy spreading through his bones the closer he gets to his bed. Hotel beds aren't terrible, but they're not his own, and nothing beats the comfort of crawling under his own covers, in his own bed, in his own home, with Seth moving through the place like he belongs.

The shower starts, and Dean can faintly make out the sounds of Seth moving around, the slight difference the sound of the showerhead makes when Seth steps under it.

Oh, but isn't that a beautiful image: Seth, his body under the spray of water, droplets sliding down his face, his neck, clinging to his eyelashes, rivulets running down his lips, the dip of his abs, the swell of his biceps, the hills and valleys of his back.

Heat blooms low in Dean's gut, arousal sweeping through his veins.

Shower sex is definitely a thing they will be having in the future, so help him.

The bathroom door opens with a curl of steam escaping, Seth rubbing a towel through his hair. He's in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs, and Dean kind of wants to cry at the sight. Fuck, Seth is going to be the death of him.

Seth walks back into the bathroom, returns without the towel, and slowly makes his way to the bed. Dean pulls the covers back, and Seth moves a little quicker, crawling in beside him. "Hey," he says, curled up in his side, one arm folded beneath his head, the other on the space of bed between them.

"Hey," Dean says softly, reaching out for Seth's hand. There's something about the way it makes him feel, holding Seth's hand in his, something like comfort, like acceptance, settled and grounded in his own skin.

Dean moves his head forward slowly, cataloging Seth's expression, and when Seth starts moving closer, too, Dean closes the remaining distance between them, pushing their lips together. Fuck, but he'll never get tired of this, never get over the way Seth's lips feel against his own, soft, warm, slightly chapped, and utterly, perfectly Seth.

He angles his head to the side, cups a hand to Seth's face and presses in deeper, feels Seth inhale shakily against him before his lips part, slotting together even better. Dean's nervous, tentative in a way he's never been before, tip of his tongue gliding teasingly against the swell of Seth's bottom lip.

He's instantly greedy for more, chasing Seth's lips with his, following the way they move and part, the touch of Seth's tongue to his own like a shock to his system, wringing a moan out from deep in his chest.

Dean lets himself get lost in it, in the feel of Seth's mouth, the drag of their lips, tongue, teeth, the sounds Seth makes when he licks here, nips there, sucks at his bottom lip, arousal running rampant through his system.

He's hard, can feel that Seth is, too, and it makes him slow it down, turns deep, hungry kisses into soft, gentle pecks.

"Wow," Seth says, chuckling softly between them.

Dean hums in response, lips curled up in a satisfied smile. He pulls Seth into him, gets an arm wrapped around Seth's waist, Seth's head pillowed on his chest right above his wildly thumping heart.

He's not sure if he'll be able to fall asleep anytime soon now, but he drops a kiss to the top of Seth's head, says, "Goodnight, Seth," and pulls him closer still.

"Goodnight, Dean," Seth whispers, places a kiss right above Dean's heart, and Dean wants to cry, so fucking grateful and thankful that he's allowed to have this now, Seth here, in his bed, his heart, his home, after thinking for so long that it would never be something he could have.

He takes comfort in the solid weight of Seth beside him, the heat from his skin melting into Dean's bones, lulled to sleep by the soft sound of Seth's breathing, wrestling and title belts and brass rings the furthest thing from his mind.

* * *

It's his. After years and years of blood and sweat and tears, scratching and clawing and fighting his way to the top, he's made it. He did it.

The roar of the crowd is deafening, and he's overwhelmed with emotion. There's a lump in his throat and there's the tell-tale sting of tears in his eyes, and he doesn't fucking care because he earned this. Everything he's done was to get him here, and the championship title is his.

He can't help chancing a glance at Seth, feels his heart stutter-thump at the defeated look on his face, but Seth promised this wouldn't change anything, and he hopes with every fiber of his being that he meant it.

He wants to celebrate this with Seth, wants to share his joy and elation, even though he knows Seth has to be angry for losing it so quick after he won it.

Dean tries not to watch Seth and Roman drag themselves backstage, celebrating with the crowd, thrilled down to his bones that so many people love him, support him, believe in him, so fucking grateful there were people willing to take a chance on him, on a screwed up kid from the wrong side of the tracks with more anger and hate in his blood than he knew what to do with, a chip on his shoulder the size of a small planet.

The emotions threaten to choke him during the backstage interview he's stopped for, but he powers through it, laughs and relishes in the giddiness and adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He fast tracks it through the halls, grip tight on the belt that's finally his, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

The door to his dressing room is cracked open, a slice of light spilling out into the hallway, and when he pushes it open, Seth and Roman are standing there, still in their ring gear, Seth still shirtless, covered in sweat.

"Hey, Champ," Seth says, smiling wide, and Dean can't hold back the sob that's been fighting to break free.

His eyes quickly blur with tears, but Seth is there, pulling him into his arms, and he can't believe this is his life, that he gets to have it all.

There's a sudden weight against his back, pressing him further into Seth, and he recognizes it's Roman, his brother, his best friend, telling him how fucking awesome he is, how much he deserves this, how much he's earned it, and Dean can't do anything but nod, face tucked into the crook of Seth's neck, not caring about the tears that are wetting Seth's skin.

Roman ruffles his hair, drops a kiss to the back of his head, whispers a heartfelt, "Congratulations," and then he's gone, the door softly clicking shut behind him.

He lets himself bask in the feeling of Seth's arms around him for a moment longer, sniffling back the tears that don't seem to want to stop before he pulls away. He coughs to clear his throat, hates the way his voice sounds small, thick and full of tears when he asks, "You're not mad?"

Seth scoffs, shakes his head. "I did what I said I was going to do. I reclaimed the belt I never lost."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts about it, Dean," Seth says, cutting Dean off. "I knew that when I won, you were going to cash in. Did I expect it to be right away? No, but I'm not mad. You fucking earned it. You deserve it, Dean, more than anyone else I know. And I told you, no matter what happened, nothing would change, _we_ wouldn't change. I meant every word."

Dean nods, chewing on his lower lip, feels the threatening sting of tears again.

"C'mon, go shower and change. Gotta get the plates on the belt changed, really make it yours." Seth is grinning and Dean can't help but mirror it, feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat that he doesn't even bother trying to stifle.

"It's mine," he says, still not quite believing that he did it, that the title is his, though he can feel the weight of it in his hand, edges digging into his skin where he's holding it just a little too tight, like the moment he loosens his grip, someone will come and take it away, laugh and jeer that he's living in dreamland, that the championship belt could never belong to someone like him. "I fucking did it."

"Yeah, you did." Seth's voice is soft, full of pride, and it's like he's out there in the middle of the ring, being declared the champion all over again with the realization that Seth loves him.

"I love you," Dean says, because he can't not say it, doesn't even care that they're barely a week into this relationship because he loves Seth, more than he ever thought he could, more than he knows how to deal with sometimes, has loved him even when he was trying to hate him, when he didn't want to love him, and he doesn't want to keep it in anymore, can't keep it in anymore because Seth is here, standing in front of him, radiating pride and love after Dean just took the title from him, the title he worked so hard to get back, and Dean just loves him, full stop.

Seth's eyes widen in surprise, but his lips are spread into the biggest, widest smile Dean has ever seen, and his heart is stumbling all over itself inside his chest, jackrabbit quick like he's just run five miles at full speed.

"I love you," Seth says, the words settling over Dean's skin and inside his soul like a lightness lifting him up, there to brighten his every day.

"C'mere ya damn softie," Dean says, chuckling, pulling Seth back in against him. He lets his hands roam the landscape of Seth's upper body, the curves and dips of his lower back, the bulk and strength of so much muscle, the hills and valleys of his ribcage, protecting the heart inside that's all Dean's.

It took them years to get here, and it took Dean even longer to get to the top, but he wouldn't trade it all for anything. Every bump, every bruise, every mile he's ever traveled, everything he's ever done, every word he's ever said, it all led him here, to being the champion, to having Seth in his arms, and he'd do it all again if he had to.

It was worth it. Seth was worth it.


End file.
